The Other One
by SF3P0X1
Summary: What happens when a writer actually writes themselves into a fanfiction? I'm talking the actual self, and not a fantastic, perfect self-imagined version. Don't know? Meg Griffin is about to find out.


- Chapter 1-

_Dear Diary. In high school I put my pen or pencil to you a lot because my life was complete crap. My parents either tormented me with their constant abuse, or they didn't even recognize that I existed. My life was a complete mockery. When I left home and got into college, there was no support from them either. It was as if I were a burden on them, and I can almost imagine them celebrating as I left._

_I've now been in college for two whole months, and the atmosphere here is nearly the same as it was back in Quahog. Diary, it's as if my life is one of God's side bets with the devil, to see just how much they can fuck with a person's life before they kill themselves._

_I've not had many boyfriends, diary. Either the boy doesn't care much for the way I look, or my parents scare them off. Hell, there was even the one my mother, my own mother, stole from me! But today I met a new transfer student. He is pudgy like me, and wears it with almost the same kind of shame my father tried to instill in me. He's got his own distinct fashion statement, like he doesn't care what he wears as long as it's comfy. He doesn't seem to like to take care of those clothes, though; everything he wore had wrinkles in it._

_He's taller than the boys that can usually stand to talk to me. Short brown hair, and some strange affinity for skunks that causes him to bleach the same kinda stripe down the middle of his head. But his eyes, diary... my god, his eyes. I could stare into them and get lost for days, and I just wouldn't care._

_He came and talked to _me_, diary. I wasn't in the cafeteria looking for a place to sit. I wasn't in the library trying to keep off to myself. In the middle of the courtyard, before the first classes of the day, in broad daylight, in _public_, he walked up to me, took my hand and kissed the back of it_

_After introductions he gave me his number, diary. A boy gave me his number. I watched him turn red as he handed it to me, and he hid his face from me as he told me to call him later. Diary, I don't know what to think. Is it too good to be true?_

_He said his name was Beta. Beta Star. And I felt like I could trust him. Without knowing at all who he is or what he sees in me, I feel like I could trust him with my life. Do I call him, like he wanted me to? I don't know diary... if I call him tonight, you'll get an entry tomorrow. Goodbye, diary. I have some major thinking to do._

Meg put down her pen and closed her most sacred book, locking it with it's lock and stashing the key in a hidden pocket of her jacket. She put the diary on the top shelf of her closet and closed the door, walking back to her bed and laying down on it. Indeed, she had a lot to think about.

For instance, this could be an elaborate and expensive prank by her father, Peter, who seemed to have an unlimited supply of money while she was growing up, and she was sure his luck hadn't run out by now. It could be a spy sent by her mother, who probably wanted to try to steal another boyfriend or two from her. Or, it very well could be a genuine boy who liked her.

But then, was he normal, or did he have some strange quirk to him, like so many boys before? Like Jeff Campbell, who seemed to be genuinely interested in her, but was a nudist. Or that cute Amish kid Eli. Then there was Anthony, who cheated on her with her own mother. The thought made her want to smash his face in.

She dug her hand into her pocket and took out his phone number. She rolled the paper in her hands and then unfurled it, watching it struggle to wrap itself up again. She didn't have a phone in her room, but there was one in the hall, and she decided then and there to make the call. After all, what's the worst that could happen? A cold shoulder and a cruel rebuttal, but hadn't she been receiving that her entire life? Even physical abuse was the norm.

Still, there was always the chance that the guy was genuine. He could be that one in a hundred chance of being a normal boy. And heaven knows that she could use the fellowship of a normal guy.

Resolving herself, she slipped from her bed, number in hand, and set off down the hall towards the payphone. Maybe, just maybe, they could have coffee together in the morning, at the little local coffee house.

-End Chapter 1-


End file.
